


you know the preacher likes the cold

by Yellow



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuckolding, Desk Sex, Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, strap in lads, that good angst filling in the edges, these are all npcs so i feel Less Bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow/pseuds/Yellow
Summary: alyosha walks in on a meeting between samot & arrell. arrell is hiding something and samot is happy to help alyosha work through his anger.





	you know the preacher likes the cold

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for putting up with my tweets on this fic, hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> also thanks for the brainstorming help in threads like this one: https://twitter.com/erintherockerin/status/895287067424501760 [kiss emoji]
> 
> title from "california dreamin'," no i don't know why I was listening to that when I wrote this; no it basically has nothing to do with the fic

“Tutor,” Alyosha says, pushing the door open, grinning, “I found-”

Sitting in Arrell’s desk chair is the most beautiful man Alyosha has ever seen.

He turns and raises an eyebrow. They'd made a date to discuss a newly uncovered pre-erasure text. Alyosha had day-dreamed his way through service. 

“Tutor?”

Arrell looks as if he’s been pacing. He stops and stares at Alyosha.

“Tutor,” Alyosha says, slow. “Who’s this?”

“Is this your...associate, Arrell?” the man says, clearly amused.

Arrell’s eyes dart back and forth between the two.

“Yes, this is Alyosha.”

“Alyosha.” The man rolls it on his tongue and smiles, a little feral. Alyosha shivers and he smiles wider.

Arrell steps forward, breaking the man’s gaze.

“Do I know you?” Alyosha says, faint. Something about the way the man is sitting looks familiar. Something about his easy confidence.

The man grins again.

“Only if you’re particularly well-read.”

Even though he’s smiling it sounds a little bitter.

“He is,” Arrell says, curt. “But you’d best be going.”

“I thought you weren’t finished telling me your plan.”

Arrell flushes.

“It’s not like you were listening.”

“No,” he agrees, easily.

“Plan?” Alyosha is caught wrong-footed.

“Arrell was trying to convince me into one of his bubbles before he leaves the city.”

Arrell sighs and Alyosha looks at him, blinks.

“You’re-leaving?”

Arrell looks to the side.

“Yes.”

“And you were going to tell me...when?”

Arrell doesn’t answer, and Alyosha swallows back tears.

“Come here,” the man says to Alyosha, and Alyosha can see Arrell move to block his path. So he does, brushing Arrell aside.

He really is gorgeous-violet eyes, golden hair. He takes Alyosha’s hand and Alyosha lets him.

“So pretty,” he says, absent. He looks at Alyosha’s robes-he’d come straight from the church. “He doesn’t treat you right.”

Alyosha swallows, trying not to cry. The man pauses, looks over at Arrell. “Neither of them do.”

And he looks up at Alyosha, no smile on his face, and for a moment he looks so old.

“Wait-you’re-” Alyosha starts, gasping, and Samot kisses him.

Behind him, Arrell makes a sound like he’s been punched.

“You’re Samot,” Alyosha says, pulling away.

He puts his hands on Alyosha’s waist and smiles.

“How do you have Samot in your-” Alyosha starts, trailing off when he sees the look on Arrell’s face.

“You’re just going to kiss another man in my home?”

Alyosha tilts his chin up.

“You’re just going to leave without telling me?”

Arrell’s face goes from quietly furious to sad, and Alyosha feels a tiny thrill.

“Alyosha,” he starts, and Alyosha says, “I have heard this so many times, Tutor, I can’t stand it.”

He leans back in to kiss Samot.

Samot smiles into his mouth and kisses back, eager. He draws Alyosha towards him until Alyosha straddles him on the chair, opening his mouth and letting Samot nip at his lower lip.

Arrell sucks in a breath. Alyosha ignores him and moves Samot’s hand up his thigh, gathering his robes.

“Alyosha,” Arrell says again, in a small voice.

Alyosha looks over his shoulder at him and ignores the way Arrell’s face makes his heart ache.

“I don’t belong to you, Tutor,” he says, and leans back in.

 

Samot touches his bare thigh, rubs the place where his leg and hip connect. Alyosha can already feel himself getting hard. Samot pulls him closer to slot their hips together and moves Alyosha's robe further up, bunching around his hips. Samot’s wearing a plain white buttoned shirt and a few golden necklaces. Alyosha undoes the shirt's buttons with shaking hands.

Samot smiles at him, gentler than before, and undoes the ties of Alyosha’s robe, slipping it off his shoulders. He pulls Alyosha's undershirt over his head.

Now he's naked except for his underwear. His erection is obvious and he blushes, pushes Samot’s undone shirt off his shoulders. Samot shrugs it off and pulls Alyosha back to him. Samot kisses ferociously.

Samot’s hands wander over his chest, arms, back, thighs, until Alyosha is burning all over. Alyosha can barely keep up, hands threaded in Samot’s golden hair.

And then Samot kisses his neck, hitches his legs up over his lap and turns him so his back is to Samot. Samot’s arms snake around his torso and he’s sitting in Samot’s lap, flushed and aroused, looking straight at Arrell.

Arrell makes a little noise somewhere between a sigh and a whine, but he says nothing. Samot starts kissing Alyosha’s neck again and Alyosha lets his head fall back onto Samot’s shoulder. He lifts his hips and helps Samot take off his underwear, and then his dick hangs between his legs, full and flushed.

Samot grasps it. His fingers are long and his hands are soft and Alyosha sighs, turning his face into Samot’s neck.

Samot’s other hand caresses Alyosha’s thigh. He keeps a steady, slow pace that’s almost torturous.

He lifts his head and Arrell is watching as if he can’t look away. Samot leans forward.

“What’s my name again?” he says into Alyosha’s ear, twisting his hand.

“Ah,” Alyosha says. “Samot.”

“Not many people know that,” he says, considered, hand moving faster. “Your-tutor, you said? Arrell is right, you’re very well read.”

He leans down and kisses Alyosha’s ear, the skin behind it. Alyosha’s hips start moving on their own, fucking up into Samot’s hand.

“There you go,” Samot says. “There you go, Alyosha.”

Alyosha catches a glimpse of Arrell’s face, drawn, as he comes. Alyosha leans back again, slumping into Samot. Samot strokes his hair, murmurs words Alyosha doesn’t catch. Then he looks up.

“Arrell,” Samot says, lazy. He hooks his chin on Alyosha’s shoulder. Alyosha can’t catch his breath.

“Would you like to participate?” He holds out his hand, sticky with Alyosha’s come. Alyosha holds his breath.

Arrell looks at Samot and then looks at Alyosha. It's all Alyosha can do to make eye contact. His chest heaves and he lies on Samot, boneless.

Arrell stares at him a moment, then ducks his head and walks forward. He kneels and licks Samot’s hand clean.

Samot smiles against Alyosha’s shoulder.

“Good.” He leans up a little to whisper in Alyosha’s ear. “Would you like to kiss him?”

Alyosha reaches his arms out and calls, “Tutor.”

Arrell walks in between Alyosha's legs, whole body stiff. He leans down and kisses him. Alyosha sighs and pushes up against Samot to get closer until they’re making out, mouths open. Arrell is kissing Alyosha like he wants to devour him and Alyosha leans into him, one hand clutched in his robes and one hand braced on Samot.

Then Samot pulls Alyosha back to his chest by the waist. Arrell whines when he loses contact, pupils blown. Alyosha sinks back into Samot, letting Samot kiss his neck, run his hands over Alyosha’s stomach.

“Thank you, Arrell,” Samot says, an obvious dismissal. He hitches Alyosha’s leg up over his lap so that both of his legs are on the same side of Samot's lap, then pulls Alyosha back into a searing kiss.

Kissing Arrell is comfortable, familiar, hot. But kissing Samot is like being chained to a falling star: he is relentless, hot mouth open wide and adjusting to every little noise Alyosha makes. He’s still not used to it. He wonders if he ever would be.

For a minute the room is quiet except for the sounds of Samot and Alyosha kissing, then Arrell says, “What-what should I do.”

“Not my concern,” Samot says, icy, and runs his hands up Alyosha’s sides. Alyosha shivers. His dick twitches, heat pooling in his gut again.

“That's it,” Samot says, soft, and bends to nip at Alyosha’s neck, sucking and biting in a way that will leave a bruise. There's another strangled noise from Arrell. Alyosha throws his head back and lets Samot work.

And then Samot’s moving him again, pulling his leg up to straddle the chair.

Samot's hands go to his ass and Alyosha breathes, shaky.

“I can't have you here on this chair,” Samot says, between kisses to Alyosha’s neck. He eyes the desk.

Alyosha puts his arms around Samot’s neck and Samot smiles. He stands up and picks Alyosha up in one smooth motion.

“My notes-” Arrell says, choked, and Alyosha makes a token attempt to brush them out of the way as Samot lays him down on the desk. The papers flutter to the floor.

Arrell makes a noise. Alyosha can just see him from where he’s lying on his back if he tilts his head up. He’s flushed and he looks equal parts angry and lost. His erection shows through his robes.

Samot bends over Alyosha and starts kissing his neck again. Alyosha throws his head back.

“Arrell,” Samot says. “Oil.”

There’s a moment where nothing happens. Alyosha doesn’t look. He can’t bear to.

Then he can hear Arrell walking away, rummaging in a drawer. Samot slips out of his pants, pulls his necklaces over his head and sets them to the side.

Arrell walks up next to Samot and looks down at Alyosha. Alyosha stares back, as Samot opens the bottle.

“Good,” Samot says, and runs a hand over Arrell’s erection. Arrell gasps, jerks.

“That’s all,” he says, and puts a slick finger inside of Alyosha.

Samot leans in, working his finger in and out of Alyosha.

“Has he ever had you like this,” he asks, just loud enough for Arrell to hear, “on the desk?”

“Yes,” Alyosha says, breathy. “Once.”

“He wasn’t going to tell you,” Samot says. “He’s _leaving_. And now I’m fucking you, on his desk.” Samot crooks his finger and Alyosha pants. “How does it feel?”

He brushes Alyosha’s prostate and Alyosha moans.

“It feels good,” he says, garbled, not sure if he’s talking about fucking Samot or Samot’s finger in him.

“What am I supposed to do,” Arrell asks again from across the room, desperate, voice thick. Samot adds another finger and Alyosha and Arrell groan in unison.

“You’re free to take care of yourself,” Samot says, and scissors his fingers in Alyosha. Alyosha squirms.

“Please,” he says, face tilted up towards Samot.

Samot smiles.

“Soon.” With his other hand he brushes Alyosha's hair out of his eyes.

Samot adds a third finger and Alyosha moans, gasping for breath. Behind Samot, he can just see Arrell opening his robes and stroking his dick. His expression is drawn but he shudders as he touches himself.

Alyosha bucks on the table, dick twitching.

“Please, please,” he babbles.

Samot shushes him, amused. He pulls his fingers out of Alyosha. Alyosha shivers at the loss of contact, but then Samot is lining himself up with Alyosha. He starts to sink in, inch by inch.

Arrell makes another strangled noise. Samot slowly sinks into Alyosha until he bottoms out.

He reaches down and brushes the hair out of Alyosha’s face.

“Okay?” he asks. Alyosha nods, hitching his leg up to Samot’s shoulder.

“Yes-you can move.”

Samot starts slowly, sighing as he fucks into Alyosha.

“You deserve better than what they give you,” he says. He puts a hand on Alyosha’s leg and uses it to sink deeper into him.

“If nothing else, I hope to show you that,” Samot says, and groans. Samot’s dick hits his prostate and Alyosha shouts, a little cut off sound. Arrell groans and the sound of skin on skin gets louder, faster.

“S-Samot.”

“I have you,” he says, breathy. He’s fucking into Alyosha in earnest, now. Alyosha reaches for his dick, lying half-hard on his stomach, and starts stroking it. He arches up, and Samot pauses a moment to stroke his thigh, turn a kiss to the inside of his calf. Then Samot moves even faster, and Alyosha cries out.

He turns his head and out of the corner of his eye he can just see Arrell.

Angry, but stroking his cock, looking at Alyosha. Jealous. Wanting.

Samot thrusts into Alyosha one more time and Alyosha comes with a whine. He hears Arrell moan.

Samot thrusts one, two, three more times, and then he’s coming, too.

He takes a minute, just breathing, then kisses down Alyosha’s chest and slips out of him.

“Arrell. Towels.”

Alyosha sits up just enough to see Arrell’s face. Drawn. Worn down. But he goes. When he comes back his hand is clean and there’s a towel for Samot. He takes it, still looking at Alyosha.

“Here,” he says, almost fond, and cleans Alyosha off. Alyosha lets himself be handled. Arrell hovers, glaring.

Samot picks Alyosha up and sets him back on the chair, covering him with his robes. He dresses. Then he kisses Alyosha's forehead and turns to leave.

“Wait,” Alyosha says, reaching out a hand. “You’re-you're Samot, the church-can I interview you for our records? Please.”

Samot turns and smiles, rueful.

“Years ago, nothing would have made me happier than to pass on knowledge,” he says. “But there are pressing matters to see to.”

Alyosha feels his face fall with a familiar disappointment.

“Of course.”

“But,” Samot says, reaching to his neck and unclasping one of his thin gold necklaces. He presses it into Alyosha’s hand, the pendant a howling wolf.

“If you have need of me, I’ll be listening,” he says, and the sad smile from earlier is back. He kisses Alyosha’s knuckles and leaves, hair floating softly behind him.

 

Alyosha stares at the pedant for a moment, then slips the necklace on.

There is a moment of quiet, then Arrell blinks, as if recovering from a trance. His face draws in.

“How dare you,” he says, low.

“Like I said, Tutor,” Alyosha says, absent. “I don’t belong to you.”

He stares at Arrell a moment.

“When are you leaving?”

Arrell’s face falls. Alyosha feels nothing.

“In a week. Alyosha-you weren't supposed to meet him, I-"

Alyosha laughs, once. "You forgot I was coming."

Arrell looks down.

“Safe travels, then,” Alyosha says, in that same detached voice.

“Alyosha-”

“Tutor.” And he looks at him, long and blank.

Arrell stares back, then storms off to his bedroom.

Alyosha doesn’t watch him go. He pulls his legs up onto the chair and hugs his knees to his chest. Alyosha rests his chin on his knees and sits there a long, long time.

 

The apartment is quiet without the sound of kissing. Almost peaceful, without the look on Arrell’s face. Alyosha stands, eventually, and slips on his robes, quiet, takes his book, quiet, and leaves, opening the door.

It squeaks terribly.

Alyosha thinks that’s fitting.

He closes the door and walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> (well i got down on my knees  
> and i pretend to pray  
> you know the preacher likes the cold  
> he knows i'm gonna stay)


End file.
